Playing With Fire

Chapter Twenty-Three

                                                        Recap

           I whip my head a little to the side and spot a navy blue motorcycle under a dimly lit lamplight. My eyes quickly scan over a pair of formal, black shoes followed by the familiar pair of grey dress pants. My heart flips as I take in Travis, waiting impatiently with a scowl plastered on his face. His hands firmly grip the handle of his bike and I make a sharp cut for him.

            He holds out a helmet as I approach him and I fumble to slam it onto my head with one hand while jumping onto the seat with another. As the engine roars to life, I snap the straps on and instantly wrap my arms around Travis’s torso.

            “Stop right now!” The same voice calls sprinting merely five feet away from where we are.

            “Travis chuckles, a rumble that vibrates deep in his chest, and lets his foot off the floor. Immediately, we race off, and I tighten my grip.

            I look back over my shoulder, watching with a smug yet relieved look as the man continues to demand for us to come ‘right back’.

            It’s only when I turn back around and scoot closer to his broad back that I realize the twisted truth that Travis saved me from getting caught spying on him. 

                                           Chapter Twenty Three

       Of all the possibilities, I had never expected to be sitting on a rooftop with the notorious Travis Emmons. Never. 

          Nor did it occur to me that it would be his rooftop.

     After escaping the scene, Travis didn’t say a word. He was moody—I could feel the way his chest vibrated while on the bike. Occasionally, he would tense his biceps and speed up. By the end of the ride, the adrenaline was long gone and was replaced with bewilderment.

        Nonetheless, here I am, facing him with a mere few feet separating us.

       I swallow back my confusion and stare out into the distance. From afar, I can see my side of the beach—the area where so much has happened. I try to find solace in the waves crashing against the sand, like I have numerous times, yet, this unsettling feeling prevents me from relaxing.

       A soft, cool breeze whips my face and I watch from the corner of my eye as Travis raises a bottle of beer to his lips and swallows the liquid. His hair ruffles in the wind, along with his thin-fabric t-shirt.

     We’re both in a comfortable—well somewhat comfortable—silence. Considering the way Travis has been downing his drink, what’s left to say may not be pleasant to hear.  Frankly, I feel neither of us want to talk.

       And then I wonder why I’m even here.

       My house is right across the street—I was so paralyzed over his mood on the bike that I had done what he said without hesitation. When I got off the motorcycle, he instantly placed a hand on the small of my back and guided me up to the rooftop.

       I clear my throat and start to stand up, feeling strange and craving home, “I should go.”

       He is perfectly capable of getting drunk on his own.

      Travis remains silent, his gaze fixated ahead. I stare, waiting for him to reply, because for a second, it looked as if he would, but he simply sucks his bottom lip in and releases.